


A Warm Winter

by InvalidUser1D



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Love, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18654286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvalidUser1D/pseuds/InvalidUser1D
Summary: When Tyrion and Sansa survive the Battle of Winterfell together, the near death experience has the pair viewing each other with a fresh pair of eyes. Perhaps the Stark girl has matured greatly over the years, and perhaps the Lannister isn't the drunken traitor everyone claims him to be. Yet, the fondness between them is challenged when Sansa learns of the death of a longtime friend, when the claim to the iron throne is questioned, and when reserved feelings make themselves known.





	1. Chapter 1

Presently, it was hard for Sansa to decipher whether the loud banging and thumping she heard was coming from the people perishing outside their walls, or her racing heart. Very few things scared Sansa. She had been married into two treacherous families, endured abuse of all aspects, and yet, the fear she felt presently was still incomparable. It was times like these that she had wished her mother were still alive, and the thought made her wonder if all her other family were still breathing, too. Was Arya as skilled a fighter she made herself out to be? Was she alive? Was Bran’s plan good enough? Had Jon put up a good fight that still was not good enough? All of these thoughts that raced around in her head were no match to the one thought that crossed her mind: ‘Will we die in here, tonight?” Death was something she had seen many times, but to know it on a more personal level now, was something that frightened her. Just as she weren’t ready to die, she didn’t want to show the fear that touched her core. How could she be afraid? Lords weren’t afraid to confront opponents, or argue, or stand their ground. She saw this bravery up until her father’s death and wanted to mirror his stoicism despite being aware of his untimely demise. She was the Lady of Winterfell, no matter how much the Dragon Qu- … Queen Daenerys would enforce her title. Ha, what did titles mean at this point anyways? The world was ending just right outside their door. And what could she do?

Part of Sansa wished to roam the halls of Winterfell and the land beyond. She wanted to see the damage and just let her mind fill the gaps and blood splatters and dismay with the thoughts she had of her childhood, like when Arya would play tricks on her, or when she would admire Jon, Robb, and Theon all training in the courtyard. It just…it just didn’t seem surreal. She desperately wanted to just wake up from this terrible nightmare, though when she would close her eyes and reopen them, she would still be there in the crypts.

Sansa turned her attention away from the corridor, hearing but not responding to the order, “open the bloody doors”. To her surprise, all eyes were on her, now. Were they anticipating her making a decision? Were they looking for direction? Feeling helpless, Sansa turned her head to face the door once more, and closed her eyes.

 _What do I do,_ She pleaded with herself.

It wasn’t long until someone else decided to bring Sansa back from her living nightmare. The touch she felt on her hand, so gentle and soft, yet frightening to Sansa, caused her to flinch and snatch away her hand. Turning, she looked at the culprit, and locked eyes with Tyrion. He bore a pained and panicked expression on his face; one she hadn’t really seen up until now. She was wondering if he were more pained for her than he was for himself by the way he looked at her.

“We have to go.” He spoke calmly, though his face read anything but serenity. With his proclamation, Sansa furrowed her eyebrows and immediately shook her head in disagreement.

“Absolutely not,” She responded curtly. Though, upon seeing the other hideaways in the crypt, she decided to speak with such softness, as to not stir the others any further. “Leaving the crypts would be a death wish.”

Tyrion stepped closer to Sansa and, after glancing over his shoulder at the others, decided to speak.

“Soon enough they’ll raid the crypt and we won’t stand a chance if five, fifty, or five hundred of the dead come charging after us. We have to move, and they know we’re here. Essentially, this a death _trap.”_

“Where do you suppose we go, then?” Sansa snapped. “Since according to you we’re completely unsafe. I wonder if we would be as safe with your sister.”

Tyrion frowned at her remark.

“Forgive me, Lady Sansa, but perhaps you should leave the witty, cynical remarks to me. You’re not that good at it.”

“I’m not trying to be good-”

“Hurtful, then? Because if so, then congratulations. You’ve achieved it.” He cut her off.

“We’re digressing from the issue! The point is, we should not leave the crypt. We’re safe here. It won’t do us any good leaving the confines of these walls. No one can get in; this I am certain.” Sansa assured.

“Nothing is ever certain. Not life, not good fortune or tomorrow. But one thing is certain right now and it’s death. To think otherwise is silly.”

“Silly? You think of me as a child?” Sansa gasped.

“Oh, just kiss already. It’s the end of the world, and we all know the first probably wasn’t a good one, anyway.” Lord Varys spoke haphazardly. Sansa rolled her eyes at the nod to Tyrion’s joke earlier on about potentially remaining married and shook off the embarrassment that flooded her pale cheeks. To both Sansa and Tyrion, it felt more natural to argue about rights and wrongs than to come up with a plan to try to beat death.

Lord Varys’ comment created an awkward silence among the crypt as they all waited for some sort of plan, and in the middle of them all were two incredibly intelligent people who both believed in their own logic than each other’s. Yeah, maybe Sansa was right; their marriage could have never worked out for numerous reasons, this being one.

“Only someone who knows the tower well enough could possibly think of something.” He gently urged. At this, Sansa allowed herself to soften at the idea of a plan. Sure, the idea was mad, but they couldn’t spend the rest of their days in the crypts, either. Eventually they would need to evacuate, especially since the war had no signs of letting up. Yet, Sansa sighed to herself and tried to conjure every memory or thought of every room or enclosure they could possibly migrate to.

Just as the ideas were beginning to swarm, the sounds of death outside their door suddenly ceased, and the eerie silence deafened the crypts. Sansa breathed out a short, jagged breath at the knowledge that they had just recently heard people put up a fight for their lives, and now with the silence, knowing that their last moments had occurred just feet away from them.

She turned to look at Tyrion, who was visibly disturbed by something. She wondered to herself what it was that he was thinking of, and dared herself to ask him, though before she could speak, she was hushed by the sound of cracks and breaks. Sansa’s gaze shifted to the ceiling above them, wondering if that could be the source of the noise.

No.

Everyone in the crypts looked around, then settled on a spot where Gilly and baby Sam were. Sansa walked closer with Tyrion staying right by her side and locked her eyes on the exposed bone breaking its way through the walls of the crypt.

But how?

Opposite the crypts were more punching and breakthrough from the dead. People who had been dead for years, centuries even, were reanimated and all because of the Night King. What did this mean for Arya? For Bran, Brienne, Jon, hell, even Daenerys. A profound sense of dread swept over Sansa as she thus realized this war were unbeatable; tonight was the night she would die.

Around her, Sansa could hear Tyrion shouting orders at everyone as the crypts soon became a panicked frenzy, but she stayed paralyzed with fear. It wasn’t until she felt the same hand from before grabbing her, leading her away from the chaos. It didn’t take long for the shrieks to continue, flooding Sansa’s ears as they had once done before.

During the evacuation, half of the group became split up, and the others became split in half. Tyrion and Sansa, moved through the dead and living, fighting to stay on the side of the latter. Sansa felt as though they were invisible in that moment; a complete stroke of luck on their end, but for how long? With her hand still in Tyrion’s, the two nestled behind a large tomb, collapsing onto the floor, breathing in iron taste of the atmosphere.

Sansa looked at Tyrion, seeing him periodically peering over the tomb to ensure their safety, but Sansa chose to continue staring at him while he did this. At some point during this repetition, he stopped and turned to Sansa, his eyes searching her face for some sort of answer to his many questions. She watched, her heart aching as she saw him try to force himself to smile. Even in a crisis such as this, Tyrion still wanted to remain calm, and Sansa felt as though it were partially because of her. With this, she couldn’t help but think back to their time together in Kings Landing, and their oh-so-lengthy marriage. He had promised not to hurt her, and he never did. Their vows, spoken of togetherness until their final moments, and though they were no longer husband and wife, the gods must have felt it necessary to see it through.

What a cruel joke.

She hadn’t noticed she was doing it too, but she had been searching for something in his eyes, the same as he were. This was possibly the last familiar, friendly face she would see before her demise, and yet she argued with him just minutes before. She wanted to take in each one of his features before facing those wretched marks of death. He was handsome, something she failed to truly see when she and him had married years before, but before she allowed herself to think of anything further, she remembered the dagger Arya had slipped her earlier in the night.

She exposed it and looked back to Tyrion who glanced from the dagger, and back to her. Once more, Tyrion smiled, a nervous twitch of his now. She knew he was scared, and so was she; who could blame him, though? He wasn’t a fighter, and neither was she. For a moment, with the weapon drawn, they both knew what this meant, now. As the gaze between the two continued, their eyes said all the words their mouths couldn’t.

 _I’m not going to die this easily,_ Sansa thought.

 _I will try to protect you. I want to keep you safe. I want to keep_ us _safe,_ Tyrion thought.

 _I know I’m going to die with you,_ Sansa thought.

 _I know I’m going to die with you,_ Tyrion thought.

Without even looking at her hand, Tyrion reached out and brought her gloved wrist to his lips, kissing it softly. Sansa could feel the butterflies swarming her stomach, and her heartbeat soon racing at the action. She knew what this meant. This was his last action of kindness, of love, of _humanity_ before facing the wights.

She watched as Tyrion broke their gaze, staring straight ahead of him, his demeanor completely changing. This was an admirable, pained readiness that overcame him, and soon, Sansa watched as he pushed himself from the tomb the two were shielding themselves with and went on to face death. It was now or never.

 

All Sansa wanted to do, or rather could do, was follow.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The after effect of winning a great war should have been one to rejoice, but for the most part, people were traumatized by what had occurred. Even with the living around you, it was a shroud of nothingness that you just couldn’t feel no matter how hard one tried. What did death feel like? Well, after the battle, what did life even feel like? Beside her, seated outside in the castle grounds, Sansa noticed a mother and daughter together, with the mother anxiously trying to console the young girl. With the girl’s panicked tone and tears flooding her young, bruised face, Sansa made sure to listen intently at the conversation they shared.

“Mum, I pro-omise you, it was him! It was Duncan! I know his face anywhere! And his eyes! Blue from brown, I tell ya! And he tried to kill meh!" She sobbed. All the mother could do was comfort her daughter. Sansa knew it was bad enough to just encounter the wights, but what do you do if you see a wight of someone you loved?

_Poor mother_ , Sansa thought. _Didn’t she know that there is no consoling someone who has seen the things she’s seen; there’s no consoling someone who has seen the things I’ve seen._

Sansa couldn’t tell if it were the bitterness she felt inside from having her mother slain with no last moments of affection between the two, or because she was on the brink of insanity trying to wait for any more signs of her family to arrive that made her so wound up inside. Either way, she decided to speak.

“It wasn’t him,” Sansa chimed in, a little louder so the two could hear. The mother and the once sobbing daughter looked at Sansa.

“My Lady, are we disturbing you?” She asked. Sansa glanced from her to her daughter and continued with her thought.

“Whomever Duncan was, it was not him last night. Those things are _\- were_ pure evil. Duncan did not try to kill you,” Sansa assured. “Death tried to kill you.”

The mother and daughter eagerly stood up. It was clear they were still shaken up by the events, and surely people coped in different ways, but the mother and daughter decided to excuse themselves from the Lady of Winterfell, for privacy sake. Sansa didn’t even care.

From across the way, Sansa saw Tyrion walking back towards her with two bowls of stew, it seemed like; one for each of them. It was the wee hours of the morning now, and yet the urge to eat was not nestled in her mind. She wanted to see Bran, Arya, and Theon. She found comfort in knowing Jon and Daenerys were safe and together, despite the anguish that Dany unfortunately wore so well on her face. She hadn’t tried to speak to her since seeing them safe and sound. What else was there to say? She already knew Daenerys’ motives once Winterfell needed to be rebuilt. The iron throne surely wasn’t too far from the Queen’s mind, even when the community was still trying to regroup. Maybe someday soon she’ll try to speak with her on a political level, but not today.

She watched Tyrion sit beside her, his face tired and grey from just hours of trauma before. He looked up at her, his eyes smiling to match his curved lips, as he handed her a spoon.

“I’m not hungry.” She softly retaliated.

“Neither am I, but our bodies are,” He tried to convince. Tyrion studied Sansa’s face, the same way he had done just hours prior, and smirked to himself. The stew he had brought to his lips was sort of cold. It wasn’t that great, but it wasn’t bad, either, just like the wine. What was it? Leftovers from the night before. Surely there were plenty to go around with the death toll they had accrued. “You’re thinking about something.”

“I’m always thinking about something.” Sansa spoke.

“That’s good,” Tyrion started. “Thinking is good. Works the brain. Though sometimes one can think too much. Don’t you agree?”

Sansa looked at him, cocking her head to the side a bit.

“What do you think about?” She asked.

Tyrion put his spoon down, subconsciously declaring himself finished with the meal as he prepared an answer to her inquiry.

“Currently, nothing.”

“But before the war. What did you think about? What sort of strange thoughts crossed your mind often?”

“My lady,” Tyrion spoke, a small smile crawling on his face that Sansa adored.

“Honest.”

“Honestly,” Tyrion began to think. He allowed his eyes to roam off to the side, seeing Daenerys attend to the number of survivors that were eating and trying to mentally and emotionally recover from the long night. “I think about what type of hand I’ll be to the queen. Sometimes I think that my job as hand is a job that I can’t always follow through with. She advises me more than I do to her.”

When realizing Sansa was retreating to her thoughts as he trailed off with his honesty, he decided to change the tone of the matter. “Besides, I was once told by someone that I’m not as clever as one may think.”

Sansa turned to face him, knowing he referred to when they had their tense conversation, if you can call it that.

“You _are_ clever, and kind, and intelligent,” She started, trying to redact her statement. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. The war was coming and…I honestly don’t know why I said it. You’re a brave man. Last night, I felt safe with you. I felt protected, even when we were both scared. I never got to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to say ‘thank you’.”

“But I am thankful for _you._ ” She assured.

Tyrion chuckled to himself and reached out for Sansa’s hand just as he did last night. This time, he could feel the softness of her exposed skin from her ungloved hands, and with it in his, he mindlessly caressed the back of it with his thumb.

Sansa looked down at the gesture, unsure what to make of this expression. He held it the same way he did last night, but this morning, it felt so different. She didn’t just feel safe, she felt…care. It had been a while since she had felt this type of care from a man. And though it stirred her up inside, she let her hand hold his, as well.

Sansa smiled a bit to herself, and then her thoughts flooded her once again.

“I wish I knew where they were.”

Tyrion sighed to himself, and looked off past Sansa, seeing a bloody Brienne, barely walking if you could even consider it that, with Jaime and Podrick accompanying them. Tyrion stood back up, stepping out into their path so they’d notice him, and instantly looked back at Sansa who, too, noticed them. Tyrion met Jaime halfway, who felt it safe to collapse on the ground in front of his brother. Tyrion knelt by him, studying his face and seeing the exhaustion. His lips were chapped from dehydration, and Tyrion’s first instinct was water, not wine.

“You always were quite dramatic, weren’t you?” Tyrion teased.

“You little shit,” Jaime managed to muster out with a hoarse voice, “You know damn well you’re happy to have your only friend back.”

Tyrion smirked a bit, but at the same time, he knew that now he considered one more person a friend, and there she was, standing right behind him, watching silently as she awaited answers, if they had any.

“Have either of you seen Arya? Bran?” Tyrion asked the trio as Brienne and Podrick elected to sit beside Jaime’s haggard self.

“Theon?” Sansa called from behind Tyrion. For some reason, the hopefulness in her voice from speaking the Greyjoy’s name sent an unknown feeling inside of him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, indeed, but he decided to ignore it for now, whatever the fuck it was.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” Brienne spoke. “We haven’t seen anyone but Jon and Queen Dae-”

“Thank you, Lady Brienne.” Sansa spoke.

Jaime and Tyrion turned and in unison, gently corrected her. “Ser,” the brothers spoke.

Sansa forced a smile on her face and locked eyes with Brienne.

“My apologies, Ser Brienne,” Sansa spoke, a bit confused about the shift in title, but accepting it, nonetheless. “If you all will excuse me.”

Tyrion turned, watching Sansa leave the table. He didn’t know what it was but having her near him made things a bit better. Perhaps this was some sort of attachment being that they nearly died together. Regardless, Tyrion found himself accepting the possibility of that expired fate. Would he have been okay with Sansa’s keen face being the last he saw, had they perished in the crypts? He found himself saying yes, though he were unsure why. Tyrion looked at Jaime who gave an awkward smile of permission to leave him, and with that, Tyrion rushed behind Sansa.

“Lady Sansa, where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Arya, Bran, and Theon. I need to know they are safe.”

“You won’t get but so far. Part of the castle grounds are off limits. You’ll run into nothing but corpses on your way.”

“Like we haven’t seen them before?” Sansa asked in annoyance. “Your brother is safe, and your sister is safe. My brother could be dead, as well as my sister. Your family may be complete in its own way, but mine is not.” She expressed with a shaky voice.  

Tyrion stood stunned in her change of demeanor. She had gone from one of compliance the night before, to full on go-getter. Even though it probably weren’t the wisest thing to do right now, Tyrion still couldn’t help but feel proud of her.

From where he stood, he watched as she continued to walk, until the sound of footsteps behind him caused him to turn. He stared at the frantic man who looked back at him and then focused on Sansa.

Jon.

“Sansa,” he spoke, under his breath before his eyes landed on the young woman walking opposite him. “Sansa! They’re here!”

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, the mixture of joy and anticipation that illuminated her once solemn face was a sight to behold. She was gorgeous, even in her sadness, but even more so in her happiness. The same face Tyrion had stared into last night, so full of doubt and fear, was now being blessed with well-deserved answers. Sansa rushed past him, meeting with Jon as they then began hurrying to reunite with their siblings.

Tyrion watched in the distance, seeing Daenerys following Jon, as well, and soon thought it appropriate to accompany them to their location. Maybe a happy ending is what he needed in order to feel some sort of normalcy in Winterfell.

As they walked, many onlookers stopped in their tracks. It was clear many were worried that maybe the dead, in fact, weren’t finished with their tyranny. At first, Tyrion questioned their gazes, but soon understood why. Seeing the Queen, a Lord and Lady hurry through the crowds were sure to capture any worried person’s eye.

Just before her, Sansa noticed Arya. Her little sister seemed so tired and so exhausted. The years they’ve spent apart did her well. She was a fighter, and seeing her nature, it was evident that she had killed far too many wights to count. Her bravery and skill were both admirable and something Sansa softly envied, but more than anything, she was proud. Of course, Jon and Arya hugged first, and while they did that, Sansa bent down to hug Bran, who barely returned the gesture. Then, they switched, with Sansa tearfully holding Arya in her arms.

“Thank gods,” Sansa whispered back, though pulling away from the embrace to look at Arya who had tears in her eyes as well, but a soft smile to match.

“And Theon?” Jon asked, looking at them both.

There was a silence between Bran and Arya, and everyone stood, waiting for either of them to speak, until finally, Sansa did.

“ _Where_ is Theon?”

 “He’s in Godswood. He’s-” Arya started.

“He’s gone,” Bran spoke up.

Hearing those words was all Sansa needed before she darted past everyone, and in the direction of Godswood. There were copious amounts of bodies strewn across the Godswood. She silently reflected on Tyrion’s advice earlier about coming face-to-face with nothing but death in unimaginable ways. Some were missing limbs and other vital extremities, while some were missing everything. What a bloody show in one of Sansa’s favorite parts of Winterfell.

But alas, how could she ever find Theon in this mess?

Sansa frantically searched, looking at unfamiliar faces and what was _left_ of some faces and found him right at her feet. A flow of blood had run from his mouth and his lower quadrant as he lay there lifeless, looking off into the distance. Theon, the man she had grew up to love, hate, and then love again, was gone. All accounts of their times together replayed in her memory. He had saved her life, and now Bran’s, and that was noble. She had seen him under the abuse of Ramsay, the same as she, and he still saved her even though he were afraid. She had trusted him, and again, like her mother, she didn’t even get to say good-bye. Sansa knelt, a feeling of dread coming over her that made it unclear if she wanted to scream, cry, or vomit. Surely this wave of emotions wasn’t healthy, especially after the night she had endured, but she didn’t care. She felt how she felt. Sansa allowed Theon’s head to rest in her lap, not caring for the blood that would stain her gown or the stench of the dead surrounding them.

Behind her, Sansa could hear multiple footsteps, and she turned, seeing everyone standing there, watching her mourn.

“Leave me,” Sansa pleaded through sobs. “Please.”

Sansa’s previous company began to retreat to give her space to mourn, though Tyrion, overwhelmed with emotion, backed away a good distance, and decided to sit on the ground. Daenerys, who was originally allowing herself to leave, noticed his action, and curiously walked over towards him.

“What are you doing?”

“Your Grace, if I may…” He asked, looking up at her with solemn eyes. The way Daenerys looked at him, with genuine question but also understanding, was nothing compared to the way Sansa had looked at him when they thought they would die. Something in Daenerys shifted when noticing his desire to stay with the Stark girl, but decided Tyrion was being as respectful as possible to a familiar soul. So, rather than fight him, since there was no other type of fight left in her now, Daenerys nodded, allowing him to stay to watch over the mourning girl. Once realizing that it was just him, Sansa, and Theon’s lifeless body among others, Tyrion allowed tears to fall freely from his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sansa found herself in the crypts that night, after the dead had been removed from every crevice and corridor of Winterfell. Yet, even in the parts that looked the most normal, it no longer felt like home to Sansa. Destruction was evident, as they had toured the castle grounds earlier that day to inspect and evaluate the ruins. Buildings were burned and caved in from the careless clashing of the ice dragon. When first meeting Daenerys, she had been both worried and in awe about the two beasts, but nothing could prepare her for the fact that one of them had succumbed to the Night King; a crucial detail that was oddly left out of the war plan. A bitter anger had begun to bubble inside her at the thought. She didn’t want a Southern ruler, and even when it felt like she and Daenerys were taking two steps forward in agreement, they would take ten steps back. It was hard to converse with someone you believed would be on your side when you two acted so much like rivals. But those questions and concerns were pushed aside. The main goal, as of right now, was to figure out why she had been in the crypt in the first place. Yet for the life of her, she couldn’t think of any good reason. Matter of fact, she didn’t even remember venturing to it in the first place. Memories of the long night began to overwhelm her to the point where she didn’t even realize the fact that the crypt mysteriously looked untouched. Hopefully, she would be back in her chambers to forget her unwanted journey tonight._

_However, Sansa stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of the same crunching and breaking noise she heard from the long night; the same noise that followed them after the crypts became animated. Sansa dared herself to turn around once the cracking had ceased and felt herself grow cold at the corpse standing before her._

_There, with blue eyes, and no other marking on him, was Theon._

_She could feel herself quivering as she dealt with conflicting feelings. Should she embrace him, or run? Why was he here? Just earlier in the day, after the bodies had been round up, he was burned. So why was he standing before her? This couldn’t have been true._

_“I’m dreaming,” She whispered to herself, her knees weak at the sight of him. “I have to be.”_

_Theon took one eerie step forward and cocked his head to the side once seeing Sansa take one step backwards to counter his action. At this point, Sansa was hyperventilating. She was alone in the crypts and just as useless as she would’ve been even with a weapon. As she stood frozen, she watched as Theon took two steps forward, his limbs snapping from rigor mortis. Seeing that she chose to remain where she was, Theon fixed himself in a haunting stance and charged menacingly towards Sansa._

_As he grew closer, she simply let him attack._

 

Sitting up in the bed, with hot tears streaming down her face, Sansa tried to compose herself from the false reality she endured. She looked around her room and let out a sigh of relief for the normalcy she saw. But with her dream, she couldn’t help but wonder if her chambers were just recently a stomping ground for the dead. Had they touched her items? Had anyone tried to hide in her chambers during the war? But she had made sure it was carefully inspected, and her room was one of few that had remained untouched.

Still, after the realness of her slumber, she felt it impossible to sleep afterwards. She quickly wiped the tears from her face, as though someone would see and judge her, and got to her feet. Her gown had clung to her lower back and skin from the sweat but loved the coolness that kissed her skin from the breeze seeping through the window. She grabbed her robe, tied herself closed around the waist, and found her slippers as she decided to leave; just for a little while. She didn’t know where she would walk to, she just needed to go.

But, walking through the corridors of Winterfell didn’t seem to be the best fit, either. She was the Lady, an intelligent and powerful asset to Jon. But she didn’t feel like it. She felt so small compared to everyone else. As she walked for what could’ve been all of fifteen minutes, she internalized every thought or doubt that had appeared viciously in her mind. Tears began to appear in her eyes once more, and she hated the burning that blurred her vision. She was growing emotional and tired, but still felt the fear that she thought would come once she laid her head back on her tear stained pillow.

She sighed to herself, trying to force the tears away, and stood at a familiar door.

She had traveled so far and ended right at the Main Hall. Maybe she could retire here by the fire for a bit before deciding on a more suitable place to sleep, next.

Opening the doors, she immediately saw the crackle of the fireplace, and then paused in shock at the two people she saw.

“My lady,” Jaime spoke, standing. Tyrion peered past him and got to his feet, as well.

“My lady.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa started. “Was I intruding?”

“Not at all,” Tyrion spoke. “In fact, Jaime and I were talking about the war.”

“I see,” Sansa spoke, lowering her gaze to the floor.

“May I ask, my lady,” Jaime began. “Why is it that you’re out roaming the halls so late?”

Sansa debated whether she should answer him. Sure, he defended Winterfell, but that didn’t mean she completely trusted him, either.

“She’s thinking.” Tyrion spoke, smirking at Sansa who in turn nodded.

“I am.”

“Lady Sansa is wonderful with her thoughts, Jaime. A true intellect.” Tyrion complimented, though as Jaime saw the cold expression she shot towards him, he deemed it fit to excuse himself for the two friends.

Sansa stood, a good distance from Tyrion who stood watching her.

Silence again.

“What are you thinking about?” Tyrion spoke, walking to grab a cup for the Lady, in case she wanted to join him in his drink.

“I don’t want to drink,” She spoke up. Tyrion turned around, smiling shyly. Fixing himself for a classic witty remark, he stopped as Sansa spoke once again. “I guess I just want to talk.”

Sansa made her way over to Jaime’s chair that he had left by the fire, and Tyrion joined her, pulling his chair to her.

“You came to talk to _me_?”

“Actually, I didn’t want to talk to anyone at first, but seeing you, I think you’d understand.”

“Well then,” Tyrion spoke, taking a swig from his cup before fully devoting his attention to her. “Let’s hear it.”

Sansa paused for a moment, the memory of the war, her dream, and so much more just running over and over in her mind. She hated to sound so vulnerable, but something about Tyrion, the awful night they shared, and even the fire crackling by them made her feel at ease.

“It’s about Theon,” She confessed. “I had a dream with him.”

There, inside Tyrion, was that feeling once again. He wasn’t entirely sure it was envy. He didn’t want to _be_ Theon, nor did he want the things Theon had. Though he had figured for himself that it wasn’t envy, he knew it was some sort of relative feeling.

Jealousy? But why? He had just witnessed Sansa’s dismay over the Greyjoy’s death and he empathized with her, but still, he couldn’t help but feel that he wanted to be the one she dreamt of. Part of him felt disgusting for thinking so selfishly, but he couldn’t help it. And yet, realizing it now what those feelings could be, he felt confused. Was he willingly seeking the attention of his ex-wife?

“Oh.”

“He was alive, but…not. He tried to hurt me, and his eyes…they were so blue.”

She could feel her voice shaking, causing Tyrion to truly focus and cling onto every word. Not wanting to take away from her experience, Tyrion remained silent to let her continue.

“I was back in the crypts and he was there. He was the same Theon. The same Theon I’ve known for years and grew up with. The same Theon who saved me from Ramsay. He looked the same but gods, his eyes! And he’s dead now. Theon is dead, and he died fighting endlessly for Winterfell. He gave his life for Winterfell. And I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. I sat in the crypts in fear. I cowered away. And even if I were given the best weapon out there, it would be no use because I lack the skill! I feel responsible for his death.”

Tears were now pouring from her eyes, and with every few words, she would sniffle to keep her nose from running. Tyrion watched as she began to cry, this time heavier. Quickly leaving his seat, he approached her with a hug where she eagerly rested her head on his shoulder in comfort.

“There, there, my lady,” He spoke. The Battle of Winterfell didn’t just leave cosmetic damages on buildings. It held emotional trauma for many involved with it. “Come.”

Tyrion gently broke the embrace and let out his hand. He walked her over to the fireplace and sat down in front of it with Sansa sitting by his side. She was carefully watching him, as though embarrassed to have been crying in his presence, and so he learned forth, wiping away her tears with a delicate motion. He felt it necessary to face her emotions by expressing the similar feelings he had felt long ago, occasionally still felt, and harbored for many of his days.

“I never met my mother,” he started. “She died when I was just a babe. She paid for my life with her own, and my father and sister completely resented me for it. For a very long time, I felt responsible for her death. Had I not been conceived, my mother wouldn’t be _my_ mother, but she would still be alive. I felt guilt for her death, and sometimes I still do.”

“So how do you fight it?”

“I don’t,” he shrugged. “I face it.”

Sansa let her eyes fall from him to the fire beside them. The low crackle was soothing and almost therapeutic for her tired soul. Her messy red hair illuminated in the dancing flames and bounced off her cool skin.

_Gods,_ Tyrion thought. _What a beauty._

“Or, you can drink.” Sansa tried to joke, her glistening eyes meeting his. Tyrion grinned slightly at the joke and nodding in her direction.

“Or that,” He agreed. Peering at her, he remembered the rest of her perils and inhaled before addressing them. “I also think that, in my own opinion, knowledge is one of the highest forms of power that it often overlooked.”

“You can’t win a war with just your brain. There must be some sort of balance. You have the fighters and the planners.” Sansa thought.

“Exactly,” Tyrion winked. “But it must be said that being a thinker doesn’t mean you’re weak, physically. I know plenty of great thinkers who would give some of the most powerful lords, ladies, kings and queens a good kick.”

“Like who?”

“Like you.”

The same flush of shyness that had crossed her cheeks when Lord Varys jokingly urged Tyrion and Sansa to kiss crept back onto her cheeks. Desperately, she hoped it weren’t obvious and prayed the fire would cover her unintentional response.

“I wish she saw your power the way I see it.” Sansa remarked. Saying her name wasn’t necessary, for Tyrion knew who she spoke of.

“Maybe you’re just enough.”

From his distance, he watched her low eyes stare back at him, and soon, seeing a yawn escape her lips.

“My lady, shall I walk you back to your chambers? It is late, and-”

“I’m fine.” She interjected. “Thank you, though. I don’t think I want to sleep in my chambers for a bit. It no longer feels like my own room. Winterfell doesn’t feel nor look like home to me, anymore.”

Tyrion searched around the room, and got up, walking to where he had removed his cape and returned. Sitting back down, he spread it on the floor by the fireplace and looked up at Sansa who was a bit confused at his gesture.

“What is it?” She asked, glancing from him to the fabric laid on the floor.

“You could always sleep with me,” He volunteered. He watched as a slight snicker escaped Sansa at his offer, and soon he realized his words possibly conveyed a different message. “What I meant was-”

“I understood what you meant,” She nodded, crawling over to the cape and laying down on it beside the crackling flame. It took Tyrion a bit to realize what would happen and wondered silently about the flutter he felt in his chest. She looked up at him, and with a slight smile on her face, she questioned him. “What is it? This was your idea after all.”

Tyrion smirked and made his way beside her, laying on his back as she did. Sansa knew there was no such thing as silence with them. Even if they didn’t verbally speak, it was like she could hear the many thoughts going on in his head. But this time, she decided to initiate a fond memory.  

“Do you remember when we got married?” she asked calmly.

“Of course.”

“And you told me you would never harm me?”

“Yes…”

“That’s what I was thinking about…in the crypt,” Sansa breathed out.  

Tyrion swallowed a bit and looked at Sansa before turning back to the ceiling.

“I thought of it, too,” He remarked. There was a brief pause before he decided to change the mood. “Still think it won’t work between us?”

The use of the tense for ‘work’ threw Sansa off, a bit. It was one thing to ask if it would’ve never worked, as in that possibility had died. But now, hearing ‘work’, Sansa saw it as bearing a possibility for the future. Because of this, she honestly didn’t have an answer for him. What she said in the crypt were true; his dividing loyalties would clash soon, and the last thing she would want would be to bear resentment for her husband- the one man who had shown her decency when she felt it no longer existed.

“Good night, Tyrion.” She spoke softly.

“Good night, my Lady.”

Sansa turned to look at him, and he did the same. She wasn’t too fond of titles, especially in times like this. Tyrion was trying to keep with his respect, but Sansa knew it were unnecessary, especially after all that was endured together.

“Sansa,” she nodded. “Just Sansa.”

“Then good night,” Tyrion paused. “ _Just_ Sansa.”

 

                                                                                          ****

An early morning chill woke Tyrion from his slumber. His head ached slightly from the wine he indulged in the night before, but there was something heavier about him. He stared at the ceiling above him with early daylight beginning to steadily brighten the room, and soon it all came back to him. He was in the main hall last night…with Sansa.

Ah yes, Sansa…

He lifted his head a bit and, without wanting to wake her, noticed her head that she had laid on his chest sometime in the middle of their sleep. He didn’t mind it, but the gesture of affection from her was new to him. There, he rested his head back down on the flat floor and stared into seemingly nothingness. They had never consummated their marriage; he saw her as too young. Gods, they hadn’t even shared a bed. But now, she was older. A woman of twenty, he believed, and she was beautiful. Beautiful, smart, Sansa Stark, who was often even more clever than he, and just as often too hard on herself. She wanted to prove to people that she could survive on her own, even if she weren’t skilled at fighting like Arya, or even if she lacked dragons like Daenerys. But proving felt futile to people like Tyrion, who had known of her greatness for years.

With the silence, he used this opportunity to really wonder why his heart had not stopped its hastened pace since last night. He had started to figure that maybe his feelings weren’t just familiarity, as much as it were an innocent admiration. Or perhaps even more. He wondered if Sansa felt the twists of the stomach, too, when he had kissed her hand, or when he held her hand to assure that Bran and Arya were alright, or like now. He was no fool to lust or admiration. He had fucked many a whore, and admired plenty of great, attractive women, such as Daenerys. But this, he conflicted, this felt like something so simple and yet just as complex; he felt a need to protect Sansa, a devotion to her, genuine love for her and he hadn’t exactly felt that before.

Tyrion wished he could see her sleeping face. What did captivating beauty look like during rest? What did she dream of with him? Tyrion allowed a free hand to reach and touch her red tresses, stroking her hair gently. He had only gotten two strokes in before Sansa lifted a sleepy, tired head and looked at the source of touch.

Tyrion started to greet her with a ‘good morning’, but noticed she laid her back down beside his, inching herself closer to him as she laid on her side. He swallowed, noticing the sun coming up, and now adopting the fear that they would be seen. The last thing they needed would be for anyone to see them in a position this intimate.

“My lady,” he whispered softly, though remembering last night’s correction. “Sansa.”

“Hm?”

Tyrion grinned a bit to himself. It was nice seeing her in such a state of calm, after everything that had occurred.

“It’s time to wake up. I don’t want us to be seen.”

“Mhm…hm?”

Tyrion grinned a bit to himself and sighed, turning on his side too, to properly look at her. Her mess of hair was shrouding part of her face, and he wondered what sort of trouble they’d get in, or the questions that would arise, if they would be caught. Just as the thought came, Tyrion watched as Sansa raised a tired hand in his direction, at first missing and landing it gently on his face. Tyrion grasped her hand in his, removing it from his face to his lips once more like he had done on the long night, his eyes slowly closing from exhaustion.

_Maybe,_ Tyrion thought, _we can stay like this just a little while longer._


	4. Chapter 4

The young woman raised her head from the chamber pot, groaning terribly from the feeling on her tongue and in her stomach. She was hardly ever sick, yet found it fitting that she would fall ill soon after arriving in the North. Perhaps her homesickness was taking a toll on her physically. This was something she had not prepared herself for, however. And yet, here she was, retching until there was nothing left within her to wretch anymore. Eager to comfort her during this time, Missandei tucked a white tress behind her ear and looked cautiously at her queen.

 

“Your Grace,” she spoke calmly, taking her hand in hers. Daenerys sniffled a bit and tried to compose herself after the act.

 

“I’m alright, I promise,” Daenerys tried to assure, despite how she questioned this, herself. She couldn’t allow anyone to see her like this. What would the North think of having an ill ruler? That wasn’t the type of notoriety she needed so soon after gaining most of their trust. “I haven’t quite grown accustomed to the food of the North, I’m afraid.”

 

“Are you sure, Your Grace?” Missandei asked, glancing from Daenerys’ tired eyes to her abdomen.

Daenerys paused for a moment, taking notice of what Missandei was trying to assume, and couldn’t help but feel bothered by this.

 

“It’s not possible,” Daenerys spoke firmly. “I will never bear children, Missandei. So please do not look at me like that.”

 

“I- I did not mean to offend.” Daenerys knew that Missandei meant no harm by it, though she found it odd that while trying to convince Missandei, she was also trying to convince herself. What if it were true? 

 

What if she were potentially carrying a child? Her body wouldn’t stand a chance, especially after the battle of Winterfell. She one took many hard hits, but the one that hit the hardest was the possibility.

 

Daenerys thought over about her conversation with Tyrion about a future heir and how she would honor a successor, but none of it rang true to her until this very moment. She hadn’t bled in days…weeks even. Hmm, exactly how many weeks was it? Daenerys lost track. At first, she hadn’t really noticed, and merely saw it as nature going against her for the stress she had been under. Surely this was the reason… or so she thought.

 

Daenerys looked at Missandei, a distinct question coming to her almost instantly.

 

“Have you seen Lord Tyrion?”

 

 

 

Daenerys walked through the corridors of the quiet morning halls. Winterfall was large and even with the ruins, still held a historic beauty about it. Yet, that was the least of her thoughts. Just the idea of potentially carrying a child again both delighted and terrified her. She needed to speak to her Hand.

Coming across a few knights in the corridor, Daenerys gathered their attention, and after formalities, decided to speak.

 

“Have you seen Tyrion? Lord Tyrion?”

 

“I haven’t, Y’Grace.” One spoke innocently, to which the other agreed on his cluelessness.

 

It wasn’t long until she saw Ser Jaime, a face that she currently detested, but was sure enough had some sort of idea where Tyrion could be. Once Jaime’s eyes fell on Daenerys, he stopped in his tracks and bent his knee.

 

“Your Grace,” He acknowledged.

 

“Where is your brother?” Daenerys asked curtly, no longer willing to waste time. “Or Jon? Or somebody!”

 

Jaime stood up straight, visibly confused. He wasn’t quite sure what the correct answer would be, despite having not seen him at all in the day.

 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I haven’t seen either of them.”

 

“Do you have any idea where Tyrion _may_ be? Where does he frequent? Where are his chambers?”

Jaime found himself tongue tied as she spoke, trying to figure out what it is that he should say, and soon enough mustering the courage to be completely honest with his queen.

 

“The last I saw of him was last night when we had wine together in the Main Hall. I don’t know if he moved from there or maybe even passed out. But I had left him there.”

 

Daenerys thought for a moment and nodded, quickly brushing past him but then stopping in her tracks to turn back to Jaime.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Daenerys stood in front of the door, a strange gut feeling creeping over her again. She wasn’t sure if she would have to vomit once more, but how she felt, felt more like nerves than nausea. She laid a flat hand on the large, cold door and pushed open slowly. At first encounter with the door ajar, you would think that there was no one inside from the silence. But pushing the door all the way open, Daenerys saw two figures laid on the floor by the fireplace. One of the figures she made out to be Tyrion, and the other? Well, she wasn’t quite sure, though the red hair made her almost certain who it was.

 

Daenerys crept closer, careful not to wake the two, and stood in complete shock as she confirmed the identity of the other.

 

Sansa.

 

Daenerys looked at the two of them, seeing the fire had burned out sometime during their sleep, and noticed the serenity on both of their faces. They looked to be in complete bliss, even if they were just sleeping, but to Daenerys, it wasn’t as platonic as they let on. Now, she wondered if this were a constant recurring scenario behind her and Jon’s backs, and ended up feeling betrayed.

 

How could Sansa, sister to Jon, allow herself to collude with a Lannister on anything but a business nature?

Daenerys stared a little longer, a sense of confusion coming over at the sight, and then regaining the sickening feeling she had in her stomach once again. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to stifle the gagging, and hurried to the Main Hall doors.

 

Sansa had already started to slip out of her dreams, coming closer and closer to consciousness, but she became fully alert once realizing where she lay. The tired woman sat up slightly and looked around the hall, seeing it empty, but also feeling off.

 

She turned her attention to the doors, seeing them slowly close, and gasped loudly. A tired Tyrion sat up immediately with a dreamy, “Huh?” escaping him. It didn’t take long for the two to realize that they were still holding hands, something that must’ve occurred naturally during their rest, Sansa thought. The two of them immediately let go, trying to fend off the awkwardness that they both felt.

 

“Someone was here.” Sansa alerted softly.

 

Tyrion rubbed his eyes and almost in disbelief, he leaned forward.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Someone  _saw_ us.”

 

“Maybe it was a maiden or someone else. What’s the big deal?”

 

“What if it were Jon? Or Daenerys?” Sansa whispered frantically.

 

“Sansa,” Tyrion spoke, trying to compose himself so fresh out of his slumber. “If it were either of them, don’t you think they would’ve confronted us?”

 

Sansa looked off to the side a bit and sighed.

 

“I should’ve just stayed in my room. I shouldn’t have…  _we_ shouldn’t have…”

 

“Slept together on the floor by the fireplace? Winterfell is doomed.” Tyrion snarked.

 

“That’s not the point! The point is that people could have seen us together. The last thing we need is for our people to see unprofessionalism amongst lords and ladies!”

 

“Your brother,  _Lord_ of Winterfell, is fucking the Queen and you want to talk about professionalism when all we did was sleep together in the most innocent form of the word?”

 

“Just forget it, you wouldn’t understand.” Sansa spat, standing up and brushing off her night gown.

 

“Oh, but I think I do,” Tyrion challenged, standing up as well. “You don’t want people to see us together?

Why? Is it because you really care about how people see you, or because you care that people saw you with me?”

 

“This has  _nothing_ to do with me being around you.”

 

“It seems like it.”

 

Sansa stared at him, a million things playing about in her mind, and there in front of her stood the millionth and one. She forced herself to bite her tongue to keep from responding. She didn’t want to fight with Tyrion. She lo- she enjoyed his accompany a great deal. It would be unfortunate if they fought, and even over a misunderstanding.

 

Sansa sighed a bit to herself and turned on her heels, carefully leaving the Main hall as Tyrion stayed behind.

                                                                                          ****

 

Memories of their battle plans brought Sansa to the time before the war. The room was missing a few souls, such as Theon Greyjoy, Beric Dondarrion, and Ser Jorah Mormont, making the remnants of the battle much more real to Sansa. And there she stood, putting her best face forward in the face of all others, though there were more personal auras that filled the room, as well. They were only missing two people, now.

 

Jon and Daenerys.

 

In the meantime, Tyrion and Sansa stood side-by-side as the rest of the survivors awaited detailed plans.

 

“Quite the dull affair,” Tyrion tried to joke. “I thought there would be wine.”

 

He looked at Sansa, whose face read ‘stoicism’ as she purposely avoided eye contact with him. He could tell she really was upset, for his silly jokes usually garnered a smile from him, but this time, nothing. Soon, the atmosphere of the room changed once Daenerys and Jon entered.

 

Settling in, Daenerys scanned the entire room, her eyes settling on Sansa and then moving on to the others. This sent a certain kind of chill up her spine. Had Sansa found who saw them this morning?

 

“Thank you all for coming,” Daenerys began. “I want to start by thanking all of you for the courage and bravery exhibited during the long night. Do not think your measures went unnoticed. I also want to speak on the fallen.”

 

As Daenerys spoke about how close Ser Jorah was to her, Sansa’s mind slipped to the about her fight with Tyrion. Something about their most recent conversation did not bode well with her.

 

“…with that being said, let’s begin,” Daenerys concluded. That was odd. Sansa hadn’t heard a single thing that the Queen had spoken.

 

“I wanted to discuss something more thorough with you all, and it’s the next war. The  _last_ war. We have defeated the Night King with special thanks to you all, and considerably Bran and Arya. Now we’ll need help taking the iron throne. We may not have many troops but surely, we can figure something out. Any plan, comment, or question will be helpful in this.”

 

Sansa couldn’t help but frown at the remark, and after looking around the table at everyone’s silence, she decided to speak up.

 

“Forgive me Your Grace, I just find it shocking that we’re to jump into another war so soon after the long night. Winterfell needs to be rebuilt. You’ve seen the damage that your- that the dragon has caused.”

 

“Viserion was my dragon, yes, and his attack was unplanned. But when I take the iron throne, Winterfell will receive its dues. I assure this.”

 

“But what about now?” Sansa questioned.

 

“What  _about_ now?” Daenerys asked.

 

“This is our home, a home we have welcomed plenty of people into and now we are to lay this off to the side as a secondary issue when just nights ago it was a primary one?”

 

“Winterfell will get it’s repairs. But it will take years, I’m sure. The best thing we can do right now is not question when, but to accept that it will be done.”

 

With Sansa to his left, and Daenerys to his right, Tyrion couldn’t help but feel stuck in the middle, literally.

 

“Your Grace,” Tyrion started. “I believe what Sansa means is-”

 

“I know what _Lady_ Sansa means.” Daenerys interjected.

 

“Perhaps,” Tyrion started. “We can start on a plan for the reconstruction before leaving for Kings Landing. It’s no secret that Winterfell took quite the damage.”

 

“Indeed,” Daenerys ominously agreed. She faced both Tyrion and Sansa, a stern gaze on her face. “It’s no secret, at all.”

 

Looking thoroughly at the queen, both in curiosity and fear, Sansa knew that Daenerys had her suspicions about something. What it may be, she had an idea but didn’t want to assume, but she knew there was something Daenerys purposely withheld from her.

 

At that, Sansa got a good look at the queen’s face. She looked more exhausted lately and seemed to rest her hands ever so strategically on her abdomen, as if to shield something from underneath her large coat. Sansa wondered why this were so, but desperately pushed away her initial guess for fear of being right.

 

“I say we go to Kings Landing.” Daenerys suggested, then turning to Jon. “We meet with Cersei and confront her about her lack of fleet.”

 

“Like she would give you the time of day knowing that Winter fell in Winterfell.” Sansa spat.

 

“Sometimes, we have to find answers, rather than waiting for them to come to us. Sometimes we must be upfront about who and what we are.” Daenerys retaliated.

 

Tyrion, just like Jon and the various others in the room, grew confused about what the two powerful women spoke of. Whatever it was, it stayed on the political subject matter and then digressed to something more.

 

Sensing the tension, Jon stepped forward, looking at his love and his sister. Seeing them fight was insufferable enough, but he wanted peace between them before he wanted peaceful political alliances. Thus, he thanked those who attended for their presence, and assured the two women that all would be better and more level headed after dinner.

 

Sansa sure hoped so.

 

                                                            *****

 

At dinner, Sansa watched from afar as Queen Daenerys toasted to the survivors and fighters of the war. It appeared as though the North had begun to warm up to her, and frankly Sansa didn’t know how to deal with that thought. A Southern ruler in the North, ha. She never thought she’d live to see the day. And yet, here she was.

 

Sansa looked down at her food. Her potatoes were barely touched and her meat? Ugh, she didn’t even dare. However, the one thing she did enjoy and take a rather keen liking to that evening was the wine. She remembered telling Tyrion on their wedding day that she only drank when she needed to. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. She drank because she wanted to, and while doing so, she enjoyed evaluating everything around her.

 

She looked down at her plate, forking one squared potato and feeding it to herself, just to have something in her system, and washed it down with more wine. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tyrion walking over to her, his own glass in his hand, at that.

 

He obviously had been drinking, as well, but wasn’t belligerent.

 

“Enjoying the meal?” He jokingly asked as he eyed her full plate.

 

“Trying to,” Sansa remarked before a dry joke came to her mind. “But I think we lost the best cook during the battle.”

 

Tyrion snickered at her joke and looked around at the entire room. It was full of drunk men and women, celebrating their feat, and drinking to their hearts content. Oh, what a joy it was to be in Winterfell, one would imagine, until you saw the ruin and were brought back to the vicious reality.

 

“So, you’re off to Kings Landing,” Sansa softly remembered.

 

Tyrion furrowed a brow at Sansa and cocked his head to the side.

 

“Are you not going, as well?” He asked.

 

Sansa shook her head, taking another swig of her wine.

 

“I have no reason to go. I’m Lady of Winterfell, so I must stay, plus I vowed to never return back to that hell hole,” She proclaimed, though turning to Tyrion to gently soften the delivery. “No offense.”

 

“Forgiven,” Tyrion shrugged.

 

Sansa’s eyes settled on Daenerys for a moment, and she saw the cup she held daintily in her grasp. Something about her energy made her realize there wasn’t any type of wine in her glass. Something was up with her, but there, she was talking to men and women alike. It was true; the North would warm up to her once they saw how devoted she was to defend the North.

 

“Tyrion,” Sansa started. Looking into her tired, tipsy eyes, he felt himself become captivated. Or, maybe he was just tipsy as well. But nonetheless, inebriated or not, she was just as beautiful and just as much Sansa as he liked her. “Do you know if the queen has bled this month?”

 

Tyrion, who was sipping on his beverage at the time, completely stopped and began coughing from the question.

 

“What an odd inquiry,” He stated before trying to find the source of it. “I wouldn’t know.”

 

“You wouldn’t? You would think Hand to the Queen would know every personal aspect of the queen.”

 

“Regarding the queen’s body, I have no knowledge of that, whatsoever.” He confessed.

 

“I’m surprised.” Sansa spoke, bringing her cup to her lips. “She is quite beautiful.”

 

Tyrion thought for a moment and saw the look on her face. He secretly wondered if Sansa harbored the same feelings he felt when he had heard she dreamt of Theon. Was she falling into this weird spell that Winterfell had cast on him?

 

“She is quite skilled,” Tyrion spoke. “And the North seems to favor her now.”

 

“Do you?” Sansa spoke.

 

“Do I…?”

 

“Favor her?”

 

Tyrion found himself caught in the middle once again, and he knew that clearly Sansa was slowly slipping into the wine’s grip.

 

“I think that might be enough wine for you, tonight,” Tyrion spoke, gently removing the glass from her hand. Sansa sighed a bit, dreamy eyes peering into his that ignited the burning sensation he felt in his chest. “Besides, I’m not her type. The queen likes her men…”

 

“Athletic?” Sansa assumed.

 

“Tall.” Tyrion smirked.

 

At first Sansa tried to stifle the laugh that bubbled in her belly, but seeing Tyrion grin at his own joke, she couldn’t help but erupt with laughter. And while she did, Tyrion noticed the beauty of a genuine, hearty laugh. Not the properness he had so often grown accustomed to with this society.

 

Just then, right as she finished, the entire hall expressed their turn to erupt in drunken cheer as they all began chanting the lyrics of ‘Jenny’s Song’.

 

Sansa looked at Tyrion, a certain shock crossing over her at the tune. She knew of the song, as did he, but in that setting she didn’t want to indulge in the sound.

 

As the two stared at each other, it didn’t take words for either of them to rise from their seats, escorting themselves out as the chants continued.

 

 

As the two walked around the grounds of Winterfell, Sansa and Tyrion continued on their own rendition of Jenny’s Song, singing through the halls and through the corridors, clearly both inebriated from tonight’s wine.

 

Sansa looked at the familiar door and knew it as her chambers, choosing to sit down in front of it before retreating inside, and Tyrion followed suit. The pair laughed and shared jokes, fully enjoying each other’s company before the laughter naturally died down, causing a drunken ease between the two.

 

Sansa looked at Tyrion, a small grin on her face as she studied every curl on his head and then his scar which was so attractive on him. To her, it showed bravery.

 

“I think you should maybe go back to the queen.” Sansa spoke through adorable giggles.

 

“What good is a hand if it cannot grasp?” Tyrion asked, making light of his drunkenness, though he partially saw it true. What good was he to Daenerys if he couldn’t pull her in the right direction? The smart direction.

 

“Nonsense!” Sansa cheered. “Hands are meant to be held, or kissed, or both.”

 

“Like this?” Tyrion asked, grabbing Sansa’s hand gently and kissing the back of it, causing her to giggle.

 

“I think the Dragon Queen saw us this morning.” She whispered.

 

“Why are we whispering?” Tyrion quietly asked back.

 

“Because this is a secret, and secrets must be kept!” Sansa whispered back, grinning. It was the first time in a while she felt free; free of agitation and tension on making decisions and following the rules. Sometimes, it felt good to be uninhibited under the right circumstances.

 

“What other secrets should be kept?” Tyrion asked, looking at Sansa. Part of her wanted to continue on singing that gods awful ‘Jenny’s Song’, though she were too intrigued with the conversation she and Tyrion were having, even if it didn’t make much sense. In her head, she could hear that cursed chant over and over.

 

_They danced through the day, and into the night_

_Through the snow that swept through the hall_

_From winter to summer then Winter again_

_Till the walls did crumble and fall_

The look Tyrion gave her in the desolate halls was enough to make the solemn song in her head sound the slightest bit romantic. Within her, she mulled over whether she should take the chance and do what she wanted to do for sometime now, or if she should restrict herself. What happened if she gave in to her feelings? And what would happen if she forgot them? But tonight wasn’t the night for stifled feelings.

 

Sansa leaned forward, placing a small and gentle peck on Tyrion’s lips, smelling the alcohol on his breath. She pulled away and ended back on the floor where she had moved from. Sansa let out a sly smile at the action, and watched Tyrion’s face grow serious. She wondered whether she had crossed a boundary by kissing him, but then again, she didn’t really care. If someone saw them laying together, it was only a matter of time until Jon or Daenerys confronted either of them with questions, of course.

 

Just as Sansa were about to apologize for her actions, she watched as Tyrion leaned forward, his hand on the back of her astoundingly long neck, the one he had admired when they had first married but forgotten about when she revealed her age.

 

This time, Sansa tasted the alcohol on his breath, and gave in to what she really wanted; who she really wanted. Memories of his gentleness from their engagement and wedding, the long night, and even the way he still cared for her despite the fact she fled Joffrey’s wedding. Part of her wondered if being intimate with him in this way was the right thing, being that they had just recently reunited after years apart. What would Daenerys think? What would Jon say? Still, though the thought of their reactions were a bit unnerving, his lips against hers just felt so familiar. Like a favorite song? No. Like a perfect meal? Not quite. The only thing she could think of was...home. This kiss felt like home. All of the passion and fondness she had for him, she soon realized was love.

 

She loved him.

 

Even in their kiss, Tyrion felt protective and strong, though kissing him was something she weren’t used to. Apparently, neither was drinking. Sansa felt herself grow dizzy despite having her eyes closed during their kiss, and allowed herself to back away to peer into each other’s eyes.

 

“I…I have to go. My head…” Sansa spoke, blinking to steady her vision.

 

“Yeah,” Tyrion nodded. “I uh, must get going, too. It is rather late.”

 

Sansa stood up as did Tyrion, and the two left each other’s company without any formal good-byes. As Sansa stood against the back of her chamber door, staring into space in her quiet room, the remnants of Jenny’s Song played over and over in her mind.

 

_And she never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave._


	5. Chapter 5

For most of the day, Sansa found herself avoiding Tyrion. She had seen him once, earlier, with Daenerys, but he hadn’t seen her. Despite the kiss they shared the night before, she silently thanked the gods that she had gone unnoticed to him, and especially Daenerys. She wasn’t exactly hiding, it’s just that she didn’t want to confront their actions. Not just yet, at least.

 

In her chamber, Sansa sat by the window, overlooking part of the Winterfell grounds that could be seen. She had felt ill from the night prior. Not from the kiss, exactly, but from the wine that she had consumed. Silently, she wondered how Tyrion did it. Sure, it was fun for the moment, but the after affects were insufferable. The nausea had subsided, thankfully, but now all that was left of last night were the faint memories of the kiss. She didn’t even know how it happened, or why, but it did. Part of her liked it, and the other part of her felt ashamed that she had allowed herself to succumb to her feelings. It was hard to hide but she wanted to keep her private life private. She didn’t want any sort of animosity between her, Jon, and Daenerys. Well, no more than there actually was, anyways.

 

Behind her, she could hear her door opening slowly, and without even looking, sensed the energy of the soul.

 

“Excuse me, My Lady,” Her handmaiden, Carol, called. Sansa turned around, smiling softly at the friendly face, before nodding to allow her to continue. “Queen Daenerys has requested your presence.”

 

Sansa could feel her smile fall unintentionally at the thought, and soon stood up, ready to excuse herself to the queen.

 

Walking through the corridors, Sansa tensed at the thought of speaking with Daenerys, but forced herself to relax upon arriving at her door. Sansa knocked once and heard the low voice of the queen grant her permission to enter. Before doing so, Sansa had hoped Jon were inside as well. At least if anything brash were to occur, Jon would be there to defend her. Yet, that thought seemed silly to Sansa. She was very much capable of defending herself, but at times like this, she felt it would be nice to have someone stand up for her every now and then. Tyrion was a master when it came to defending her. That’s something she had to admit.

 

“How are you?” Daenerys asked, her features much softer than from yesterday. It was clear she may have been in a different mood today which Sansa saw to her benefit but also worried over. How could they have a reliable queen who often threw tantrums when things didn’t go her way?

 

“Well,” Sansa nodded. She looked the queen over, noticing she held her hands at her stomach just as she did with yesterday’s meeting. Trying not to stare, Sansa opted to carry on the subject. “And yourself?”

 

“As well as one can be.” Daenerys spoke, lowering her head a bit to look down at her abdomen. Trying not to give off too much with just visual cues, Daenerys walked over to some chairs, taking a seat. “Please, sit with me.”

 

Following suit, Sansa stared calmly at the queen, a small smirk on her face to try and not to give off the impression that she clearly had her guard up. The only two things keeping her from completely disliking Daenerys was Jon and Winterfell. If Jon loved her, then she would have to, as well, because she loved her brother. If Winterfell liked her, then what was she to do? Her people had the right to their own opinions, no matter how much Sansa struggled to fully trust the mad king’s daughter.

 

“You requested me?” Sansa asked, diving straight into the business, partially to save time while also wanting to ease her nerves. Daenerys, who was seated across from Sansa, reached forward and gently grabbed both her hands in hers. The touch, so unfamiliar to Sansa, made her suspicious even more.

 

“I wanted to call you in here, today, because I wanted to discuss something. Something I’ve noticed,” Daenerys started. Sansa could feel her heart beginning to beat faster as she mulled over her options. If she were to bring up matters with Tyrion, she could play oblivious. Then again, playing oblivious might come as an insult to the queen, if they ever were to come out with their intimacy.

 

“Regarding?” Sansa spoke.

 

Daenerys flashed a large, excited smile at Sansa, a genuine smile though, and gripped her hands with excitement.

 

“Well, I may be with child.” Daenerys confessed, causing Sansa to blink from the news. She was so certain that she would bring up the possible relationship she had with Tyrion that she had completely forgotten all about the possibility of a child.

 

“W-with child?” Sansa asked, looking her over. “Have you told Jon?”

 

“I haven’t,” Daenerys shook. “Please keep this between us, though. I just thought you would be one of the first to know, since you will be an aunt one day. Possibly even soon.”

 

The idea didn’t exactly sit as well with Sansa as she had hoped, though seeing Daenerys glow was something she couldn’t shake. Seeing her happy did make her happy, too.

 

“Congratulations,” Sansa smiled, lightly gripping her hands back. “I assume you haven’t bled?”

 

“It’s been a while.” Daenerys nodded before looking into Sansa’s eyes. “I just…Jon wants us to be close. As sister to the man I love, I would hope to have a not just an alliance with you, but a friendship also. That’s all I would want, really. I don’t want us to keep secrets from each other.”

 

Sansa looked away from Daenerys, knowing everything that she had tucked away in her personal affairs. She respected Daenerys for coming to her first, and for gaining the respect of the people in the North, but she also questioned whether that trust that Daenerys had newly found in her would dissipate when learning that she kept her and Tyrion’s kiss a secret.

 

“I agree,” Sansa nodded after brief thought. “No secrets.”

 

 

 

Tyrion strolled along the halls, knowing his time to meet with Daenerys was drawing near. With each step he took, he thought even deeper about the night he and Sansa shared, and the delicate kiss she had planted on his lips before he fully caved in to his desires by advancing her. The beautiful sensation being fulfilled by both wanting parties was cut short, but no matter. It was amazing while it had lasted, and he prayed to the gods he very seldom believed in, that he would receive this opportunity many times over.

 

As he neared the door, Tyrion slowed his pace, seeing Daenerys’ door open, and stopping short once seeing Sansa leave her company. He stepped to the side in respect, staring at her in confusion. Why had she been called to Daenerys’ care? What did they discuss?

 

“Sansa,” he nodded, desperately wanting to talk to her about last night.

 

Sansa looked at him briefly before shifting her gaze to focus on the nothingness in front of her.

 

“Lord Tyrion.” She spoke, passing him by. As she walked, Tyrion stopped and watched her move down the corridor, confused at the change in dynamic. Instantly, he feared the worse. Perhaps the kiss changed everything. Maybe she didn’t like it? But she kissed back. But that doesn’t excuse anything. Tyrion frowned at her action and sighed a bit to himself. Such a beautifully mysterious being. Whatever was he to do with someone like her? Rather than mull over her response to him in the halls, he turned around, seeing Daenerys peering at him from the doorframe. The sight of her startled him a bit, causing him to flinch.

 

“Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke, a bit breathless. “Forgive me.”

 

“All is forgiven,” She spoke, looking him over, then looking down the hall at Sansa as she walked. Tyrion noticed this, feeling just as on edge. Of course, she saw him watching her. But maybe she thought it as something else aside from longing. “Please join me.”

 

Tyrion stepped inside the dark, empty room and waited for the next course of action from Daenerys. She walked slowly to two chairs and sat in one, urging him to sit with her as she began to speak.

 

“I presume you are excited to be back in a warmer climate, soon.” Daenerys spoke, eyeing her Hand carefully.

 

“Actually, Your Grace, I’ve grown quite accustomed to the North.”

 

Daenerys scoffed slightly and nodded at his response. “I see.”

 

_She knows_ , Tyrion thought, shifting a bit in his seat. He silently wished he had wine he could share with the queen. Perhaps it would help ease the tension for both parties. Clearly there was something that needed to be said, but neither were willing to talk about _it_ first.  

 

“I’ve been doing plenty of thinking about your sister.” Daenerys initiated.

 

“Is that so,” Tyrion spoke, clearly out of his element now. “Are you certain you want to revisit Kings Landing so soon?” he asked, peering into her and hoping for a well thought out answer.

 

Daenerys’ features grew sterner at his curiosity.

 

“You lack faith in me,” Daenerys frowned. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that you are my most trusted companion. You are my Hand; not my head.”

 

“I am aware, but as duty as your Hand, I hope to guide you to other options that may be wiser than others. Not to say you are not wise, but some actions may not sit well with Cersei.”

 

Daenerys paused for a moment, hearing him speak. She knew he had a point, and of course he was a known intellect as much as he were a known drunk. For a moment, she almost saw why Sansa would be interested in him. Then, she remembered why she really called him in.

 

“Lord Tyrion, what do you think of marriage?” She asked.

 

“It has it’s potential to be a great business deal. One of the oldest forms of branching in the books.”

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Daenerys nodded. “One way I considered solidifying the potentially strong relationship between the North and South would be to take on a husband. If I were to take Jon as my husband, the North would be warmer to me. I’d have more people on my side. I’d have people who would be more welcoming to me. I need their trust if I want to successfully take the throne.”

 

“…through marriage.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Your Grace, I highly doubt that’s smart. Marriage _could_ work, yes. The people of the North could come around to you more if they knew that Jon were to wed a Targaryen, even after the exceptional fight you put up during the long night, but I just think that right now, you need to be careful.”

 

“I’m always careful,” Daenerys spoke. She stood up, walking over to a large window and looking out at the people around. “I need a plan for before, during, and after we visit Kings Landing. I need a process.”

 

“You can start with Winterfell. Since you’ll be gone, we can task builders with the duty to reconstruct. That’s another way to win over the North.” Tyrion spoke up. This caused Daenerys to roll her eyes. He had begun to sound like Sansa now, regurgitating her foolish and unrealistic views.

 

“Tell me, Tyrion. How loyal have you been to me, exactly?”

 

Tyrion blinked, looking directly into Daenerys’ eyes. What an odd question. The more she pried, the more he felt as though this weren’t a meeting between the two, so much as it were an interrogation.

 

“As loyal as a Hand could be, Your Grace, and then more.” Tyrion spoke, his voice clearly hurt by her question. Lately, the stress of protecting Winterfell and winning over the North had Daenerys on edge, but now she showed ounces of doubt in her own Hand.

 

“If that’s so, then why have you neglected to inform me of your relationship with Lady Sansa?”

 

Tyrion could feel his throat tighten at the question, and he chuckled a bit to diffuse the tension.

 

“Your Grace, there is not a relationship between Lady Sansa and I. It’s complete professionalism.” Tyrion spoke, though he couldn’t tell if he were lying to Daenerys or were completely honest. Last night was anything but professionalism, but just minutes ago, the way Sansa basically ignored him in the halls led him to believe otherwise.

 

“I saw you with her,” Daenerys spat. “In the Main Hall.”

 

Tyrion stared at his queen for a moment, completely caught. What was he to say? What was he to do? Redact his statement about their relationship? Tyrion sighed a bit and looked at Daenerys.

 

“I had comforted her. She wasn’t dealing with the war too well and would have nightmares. That night, I tried to reason her, and we had fallen asleep together. Nothing aside from dreams occurred.”

 

Daenerys looked him over, clear doubt crossing over her with his story. She knew there was more to it, but she wasn’t getting enough. For the mean time, she figured she would quickly lay down her expectations rather than trying to get more information from him.

 

“When I claim the iron throne, and I _will_ claim the throne, I will need loyalty from all sides.”

 

“And I swear my loyalty to you, Your Grace.”

 

Daenerys didn’t know how to respond to that, especially since lately all they seemed to do was disagree. What type of Hand disagrees with their grace this often? One that would eventually cause trouble, Daenerys figured.

  
“I was told you and Sansa were married before.”

 

“For a short while, Your Grace. Then we never saw each other again. Until now.”

 

“Whatever feelings are there that had carried over from your marriage, I’m going to need them gone. I do not need a Hand involved in extracurricular activities, especially when those actions are tied to someone that I often do not agree with. I need a Hand who is just as focused as I am on winning the iron throne, and I will stop at nothing to receive it. If you cannot commit to this, then I’ll be sure to find a Hand who will. I mean it.”

 

A wave of sadness washed over Tyrion at the thought. Staying away from Sansa was something he had absolutely no intentions of doing, but thinking of it now, maybe the potential relationship would cause a rift between her and the queen. What was he to do? Suffer in silence? Pretend as though everything were okay when really it wasn’t? Give up on Sansa? Not in the slightest.

 

 

Tyrion walked past a room, noticing Sansa sitting by the window at a writing desk, and stood staring for a moment before tapping the door. Sansa looked up from her writing and gasped a bit at the sight of Tyrion. As the two stared at each other, Sansa noticed the loud silence between them.

 

_What did she say to you_ , Tyrion thought?

 

_I cannot betray Daenerys or Jon_ , Sansa thought.

 

“C-come in,” Sansa permitted, standing up once he stepped in. Tyrion turned around a bit, his hand on the door knob before looking back at Sansa.

 

“May I?”

 

“Please,” Sansa nodded, allowing him to close the door behind him. As Tyrion stood, staring at the young woman, he allowed his eyes to roam to the parchment she had on her desk.

 

“Were you writing?”

 

“Oh,” Sansa spoke, picking up the paper and crumbling it in her hands. “Just practicing my penmanship.”

 

Tyrion smirked, shaking his head a bit at her fib before walking over to her.

 

“You’re not a good liar.” He confessed, sitting near her. Sansa sat as well and smirked a bit.

 

“I’m starting to realize that.” She spoke, though she weren’t sure if she meant it towards his joke or pertaining to every encounter she had with Daenerys where she had to subtly promise to refrain from secrets. Those were lies, too.

 

Sansa noticed Tyrion’s gaze and turned her head a bit. He was both so shy but so unforgiving with his eye contact, causing an internal excitement to take over her. She felt relaxed with him here, despite her subtle talk with Daenerys.

 

“What did she say to you?” Tyrion asked in a low voice.

 

Sansa swallowed a bit and gave a small shrug of her shoulder before turning back to a fresh piece of parchment on her desk.

 

“We just talked about the future, is all,” She spoke. Sansa forced herself to write any little thing on the parchment to seem too preoccupied to make eye contact. “And yourself?”

 

“She wants me to be more loyal to her.” Tyrion spoke, not once taking his eyes off Sansa who clearly felt the weight of the gaze. She lifted her head and turned to face him, a bit shocked about their conversation topic.

 

“Have you not been already?”

 

“Well, the situation is not that Daenerys believes I’d betray her, but rather that I have my loyalties in a twist.”

 

Guilty eyes shifted from his to the Hand pin on his lapel, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel responsible.

 

“Well, maybe your priorities will be in order once you arrive in Kings Landing. You’ll have a familiar setting, and familiar women in all familiar crevices of the South to remind you of your duties.”

 

“Or maybe I can have a familiar woman accompany me to Kings Landing.”

 

“A familiar woman won’t do that.”

 

“And why not?” Tyrion asked.

 

“Because I- because _a familiar woman_ hates Kings Landing and must represent the North.”

 

“Ser Davos can watch the North. It’s not unfamiliar to him.”

 

“But he isn’t _Lord_ of Winterfell. I must stay,” She started. “I want to stay. And I don’t want Daenerys to suspect anything more than she probably already does. We’re treading on thin ice.”

 

The last part of Sansa’s plea was spoken in a whisper, fearful that someone would overhear and report back to the queen. That’s the last thing they needed.

 

“She already knows enough.” Tyrion lowly confessed.

 

“You told her?!” Sansa nearly screeched, her eyes wide with shock.

 

“She saw us…in the main hall.”

 

“I knew it,” Sansa spoke, standing up quickly to pace the room. “I knew she saw us. I knew it! Did she see us kiss? I knew it were a mistake. I should have never kissed you.”

 

“But you did.”

 

Sansa stopped in her place and turned around, seeing how oddly calm he was. Clearly if he weren’t too worried, she had no reason to be, either. So, rather than wear herself out, she returned to her seat near Tyrion and thought of the main question that consumed her thoughts.

 

“How long will you be away for Kings Landing?” She asked.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” He spoke, removing himself from his seat to be closer to Sansa. “I want to know why you kissed me. I need to know whether I should try my hardest to push my feelings aside, or if this is reciprocated.”

 

Sansa nearly searched in his tired eyes for a suitable answer. She did not just have feelings for him. She was enamored and completely attached to Tyrion, no matter how much she tried to diminish it.

 

“I don’t want you to go.” Sansa spoke in a soft, innocent voice, and Tyrion knew exactly what she meant. She didn’t mean him leaving to be off in Kings Landing. She meant, in the most general sense, that she didn’t want for neither Jon nor Daenerys to keep them apart.

 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tyrion whispered.

 

Sansa’s breathing grew deeper as the man came closer to her face. Being sober, she took in all aspects of him that had gone way over her head while inebriated. She smelled his scent on his clothing, and noticed more vividly, the scar across his face. It was beautiful. _He_ was beautiful. Tyrion raised gentle hands to cup Sansa’s face, and brought her in for another kiss; a proper kiss.

 

Sansa allowed herself to feel everything so deeply with him. She could feel soft hands entangling themselves in her hair and felt the passion of the kiss growing the longer they held each other. As they broke, the two lovers rested their foreheads together, both flushed from the emotions.

 

“I love you,” Tyrion whispered. “I’ve always loved you. And no one can make me stop.”

 

His breath gently kissed her skin, sending goosebumps down her spine, and slowly hardening her nipples. It was at this very moment that she knew she would give herself to Tyrion before he left for Kings Landing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for not posting in a few days! I started this fic while on my vacation from work, and now that I'm working again, I have to find the appropriate time to post! I thought I would make it up to y'all with a (nearly) 3600 word chapter! Also, I'm contemplating creating a social media so I can post updates for those of you who are loyal readers of A Warm Winter. Sorry again, and enjoy! -T

_Mother,_

_How was it when you met father? Were you instantly enamored? Was there much to discuss about wedding plans? Did you both exchange faithful looks the day you said your vows? Was there anything you could have done differently? I often think of these things when I think of you. Winterfell is so different, now. It doesn’t feel like our home. The things I’ve seen have touched me in ways that I never thought I’d be touched. I want to protect my people; I want to protect our home. But I’m afraid I do not know how._

The letter before Sansa was laid neatly on her writing desk. She looked her words over and felt a sadness come over her like the sense of death from the long night. It would’ve been nice to have sent the letter to her mother, to have a reply and advice to come, as well. Though, no matter how hard Sansa didn’t want to face it, she knew the letter wouldn’t receive her mother’s company. Despite this, she still held onto hope through the gods. Sansa stood up, letter in hand, and folded it neatly in her care as she tucked it under some books on a shelf.

As she stood, engulfed in the silence of her room, she let the thought of Tyrion and their kiss slip into her mind. This, this feeling was so new to her, and yet she adored every second of it, even the idea of sneaking their affairs behind Jon and Daenerys. She slightly scoffed to herself at the thought. What would they say? Sansa was keeping Daenerys’ secret and she and Tyrion were keeping their own.

Tyrion…

Sansa smiled to herself a bit, still feeling their passion linger on her lips and sink further into her soul. She loved the act, she loved being with Tyrion, but she also wondered why she didn’t return his declaration of love. She knew how she felt but couldn’t fully bring herself to say it. A slight flash of Theon came into her mind; the perfect image of him, rather than the look he bore in her horrid dream. Seeing his face in her mind’s eye, she shook off the traces of him and sighed a bit to herself, turning away from her shelf and exiting her chambers.

Perhaps she needed some air.

 

Not too far from she, was Tyrion and Daenerys in the Great Hall. Daenerys who was easily more tired lately, sat down with her hands gently resting on her stomach. The question that Sansa had asked as they were both inebriated came rushing back to Tyrion.

_When was the last time the queen bled,_ he thought. Though, he quickly brushed off the thought as both something he felt wasn’t his concern, but knew that it also entirely was.

“Tyrion,” Daenerys started, her eyes peering at him. Lately, with Tyrion’s most recent mistakes, he felt as though his and Daenerys’ encounters were more opposing than anything else. Very rarely did they come to an agreement, and that bothered him so. To hear his name in a matter that was neither nasty nor forceful was somewhat of a shock to him. “Your sister has suitors?”

Tyrion blinked for a moment and thought, attempting to bring back his wit and humor into the conversation. It had been far too long since he and Daenerys saw eye-to-eye as confidants as well as business partners.

“I think her most recent suitor has joined your side, which I’m not too sure she’s thrilled about. I think she’s quite the jealous type, though.”

Daenerys’ eyes shifted from genuine curiosity to annoyance at his remark.

_Tough crowd_ , Tyrion thought.

“Not that I am aware of, then again I think Euron Greyjoy may try to take a chance. I’m not entirely sure she won’t let him.”

“So that ties the Greyjoys and the Lannisters together,”

Tyrion paused for a moment, shifting in his seat as he began to understand her plan even further.

“Your Grace, you don’t think it possible for them to be betrothed, do you?”

“We have to consider all angles. It is a huge possibility,” Daenerys spoke, leaving Tyrion to study the queen, seeing her gaze shift to the floor. She wasn’t lost in thought, but rather concocting an idea in her head that deemed suitable. Tyrion felt off at the notion that she could potentially come up with another impulsive or selfish plan that could be met with hostility if he were to advise against it. Still, he wanted to hold onto faith that Daenerys had the better judgment. “If I could have it my way, and I will, I’d marry Sansa off to Jaime to send a message.”

It took Tyrion a moment to fully comprehend what Daenerys had suggested. Or was this an actual plan of hers? He could feel himself grow hot as her words slowly turned every muscle in his belly.

“Your Grace, you cannot possibly be serious,” Tyrion spoke, though when seeing her face shift to ready herself for a proper response to the “insult”, he spoke up. “I don’t mean to offend. I just see it as incredibly damning to your plan. That alone could cause trouble if we want to take the iron throne the right way.”

“And what exactly is the _right_ way,” Daenerys spat. She excused herself from the table hastily, walking to a window that overlooked the grounds of Winterfell. “So far none of your plans have helped me. Only hurt me. You don’t know how many times I’ve questioned your loyalty, and I’m questioning it again as we speak. You’re more concerned with me hurting your sister’s feelings than with making a wise and consecutive plot to seize the throne.”

“If you manage to take the throne-”

“ _If_?”

Tyrion sighed, a pained look on his face at the idea, and not only that, the backlash he would eventually face from Daenerys if he were to push her buttons even further.

“ _Before_ ,” Tyrion corrected. “Before you take the iron throne and venture to Kings Landing, don’t you think it wouldn’t sit well with Cersei if she knew that not only has her enemy shown up, but they’ve married off Sansa, of all people, to her ex-lover? She’d set wildfire to Winterfell.”

“And I have dragons.”

“Two dragons who have been injured pretty recently. Our fleet has been drastically depleted. We may have _at most_ seventy men, if that,” Tyrion spoke up. He could see that his words were no match for what she held as a mental plan. Removing himself from his seat at the table, he walked over to his queen. “Cersei is fully prepared to do all she can to ensure our downfall. There has to be another way.”

Tyrion couldn’t tell what he was fighting for more at that moment. Was he fighting for the future of the iron throne by not agreeing with the betrothal, or was he fighting for Sansa? Tyrion respected and loved his former wife too much to allow her to become a political prop to be had at Daenerys’ disposal. He thought back to what Sansa had told him the crypts, a few choice words that could bear true with what was soon to come.

_It would never work._

But he couldn’t bear not to try.

“Sounds like you know a lot,” Daenerys spoke, though gathering her thoughts. “What do you suppose we do? Quickly.”

Tyrion swallowed hard, his heart thumping at the thought process. ‘What do you suppose we do’? Well, he wondered that, himself. But then, years ago came brushing back to him, and he remembered when he was first told of his engagement to Lady Sansa. He remembered hearing her cries of despair after leaving her with Shae in her chambers, a sound that pierced his core. The two had come quite a long way since then.

“Allow me to-”

“I know what you’re willing to say. The answer is ‘absolutely not’,” Daenerys shut down with force. “You and Sansa were married before. I cannot have my hand married again, let alone to the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke. “If you want to build a reasonable allegiance between the Starks and the Targaryens, and the Lannisters, then it wouldn’t be wise to pluck Jaime. Especially when you trust neither of them. Wouldn’t it be wise to stick with someone you know you can trust when trying to form a bond with someone you don’t?”

Daenerys looked over Tyrion, noticing that he was no longer reasoning with her, but rather begging. She didn’t exactly know why, but she had a good enough reason, and with his logic, she walked directly past him.

“You’ve exhausted the topic. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

Tyrion stood in the room, watching anxiously as she made her exit. He couldn’t believe what Daenerys had suggested. He wouldn’t know what to expect if she bonded Jaime and Sansa together, but he had hoped his words resonated with her well before they unwillingly made their way to Kings Landing. He walked to the window, wondering what it is that Daenerys saw outside, and watched as his eyes landed on the beautiful redhead in the courtyard, speaking with people as some men began their construction on Winterfell. He smirked to himself, happy to see that she at least got what she wanted and let his heart fill as he admired her drive for the greater good of her people. It would surely be a shame when that smile would leave after learning of the news.

What would he tell her? _Would_ he tell her?

With a sharp inhale, Tyrion decided to leave, making his mind up to tell her regardless, and made his way outside.

From a great distance, he watched her, standing there with her sister. Swallowing his pride, Tyrion continued forth, his eyes focused on his end goal as he approached the young ladies.

“Lady Sansa,” he nodded, smiling at her. “Lady Arya, hero of Winterfell.”

“Arya.” She nodded curtly, a slight smirk on her face at the title.

After correcting himself, Tyrion turned his attention to Sansa who played the game pretty well. You would’ve never guessed they had shared in their mutual affections twice over with the way she looked at him. In fact, she played it so well that he often questioned whether she was serious in her lack of affections, though he knew it to not be true.

“I do hope I’m not interrupting,” Tyrion spoke. “I saw the two of you outside and decided to approach.”

“You’re not interrupting, my Lord.” Sansa spoke, smiling genuinely.

“Good,” he nodded. “I was wondering if I could-”

Staring at the two, he noticed their gazes shift from him to behind him. Daenerys? Turning around, Tyrion watched as Jon approached, wheeling Bran over to the small group, and he soon breathed a sigh of relief.

“My lord,” Jon spoke as Tyrion addressed them both. “I do apologize, but I must speak with my sisters.”

Tyrion felt a bit disappointed at the short notice, but not wanting to address such matters in front of everyone, Tyrion forced a smile and nodded.

“Of course, my Lord.” Tyrion spoke, attempting to walk away, though stopping at the sound of his love’s sweet voice.

“T- Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion met Sansa’s eyes once more, trying with all his might to not get caught in the sea of blues, and watched as she reached towards him, nearly grasping his hand in hers.

“I look forward to speaking with you.” Sansa assured. Tyrion, originally confused, grew eager as he felt the small piece of parchment being slipped in his hands. Securing it well in his grip, Tyrion placed his other hand on top of hers, and nodded.

“As do I, my Lady.”

After walking out of the sight of many, Tyrion snuck into the castle and into a desolate corridor to read the note he had in his hands.

 

               _Meet me at my chambers tonight after supper._

Hours had passed and Tyrion missed dinner, anticipating their meeting tremendously. Part of him was wondering if they would make love tonight, but how could he do so when knowing what he knew? Keeping this secret from her would be detrimental to everyone’s plans. To everyone’s future. Tyrion stood outside Sansa’s door, watching the movement and flicker of the light on the opposite side. Raising a solemn fist, he knocked quietly, and paused as all movement ceased behind the door. He could hear muffled shuffling coming to the door and took a step back as he watched it open ajar.

Like magic, she was standing before him in her thin nightgown, practically glowing from the candles lit within her room.

“Tyrion?” She spoke in exhausted confusion.

“I got your message.” Tyrion whispered, making sure no one else could hear.

“Oh yes,” Sansa nodded, stepping aside to invite him in.

Tyrion welcomed himself into her chambers, looking around and seeing it still perfectly in tact even after the battle.

“It’s a very…clean space.” Tyrion regarded, trying to diffuse his nerves. Being invited to a woman’s chambers could mean only one thing. From a few feet, he noticed Sansa’s stoic face as she climbed into the bed and simply stared at him. Tyrion smirked a bit and looked her over, not quite sure how to read her.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Sansa shrugged. “I’m just waiting for you to join me.”

There were only two other instances in Tyrion’s life when he made love:

  1. Once at age sixteen when he was determined to run away from his life as a Lannister and happened upon a young woman of his age.
  2. Shae (occasionally)



 

Tyrion undressed himself down to his undergarments and climbed into the bed with Sansa. As he came closer to her, Sansa silently wondered how this would work between them. Tyrion was positive she had never been this intimate with anyone before, and for him, it had been a good few years since he had.

Sansa leaned towards him, planting a delicate kiss on his neck; his sweet spot. Sansa began to suck gently, enticing him. Maybe if he gave himself to her, he could forget all about the secret he carried. Maybe… maybe…

Sansa reached down, her hand gently rubbing over his dick, and stopped when noticing he wasn’t erect. Tyrion could feel his cheeks growing red from her discovery. His mind wasn’t handling this very well, but with trying to redirect her attention, he looked into her eyes.

“You are so beautiful.”

The two allowed their lips to meet in a familiar kiss, letting each other become consumed in the passion. Tyrion felt his chest grow hot, the lion within him getting ready to burst forth, but stopped once noticing Sansa’s kisses were weakening.

He backed away, turning away from her and sighing to himself. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one with something on her chest.  

 “Sansa are you alright?” He asked once more, this time with more need for an answer.

Sansa turned away from him and shifted her gaze to her fingers.

“Why?”

“You seem different from earlier. What happened between then and now?” He asked.

“I can say the same for you,” Sansa assured. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Tyrion couldn’t help but recognize the irony of their situation. There he sat, in the bed of the woman he loved, who was possibly soon to marry his brother. It was clear the gods had a strange sense of humor.

“You first.” He spoke, playfully poking her hand and soon grabbing it for any sort of comfort that she needed. He watched Sansa struggle internally about how to say it, or better yet, if she should say it. But she trusted him. Why wouldn’t she?

“Shortly after you left, I was told of some news.”

 “…news?” Tyrion asked, raising his eyebrows. He begged internally for her to not say what he thought and decided to remain quiet until she explained all that she knew when she was ready.

“You have to promise not to tell. Please.”

_Oh, but my love, I already know,_ He thought.

“I won’t.” He promised with a broken heart.

“Bran told me earlier today that Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

Tyrion blinked, looking the girl over and stared in complete shock at the revelation.

“But, he’s…that’s impossible.”

“I swear!”

“I’m assuming Bran can confirm that he saw this. You know, being the three eyed raven and all?”

“He said he saw their wedding. Jon is not a Stark. Jon is a Targaryen, _by blood_.”

Tyrion could feel his stomach turn from the fact and wondered if Daenerys knew this as well. For a moment, he forgot where we were and turned back to Sansa, seeing her just as confused as he were.

“If what Bran saw was correct, then this means that Jon has more claim to the iron throne than Daenerys.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, now would it?” Sansa spoke softly, watching him carefully from her words. Rather than defend his queen, Tyrion analyzed the information she just shared with him and sat in silence.

After a couple of moments of thinking, Sansa gently squeezed the hand he continued to hold to grab his attention.

“What was it that you were thinking of?” She asked softly, genuinely concerned as well.

“Oh, just…Kings Landing.” He lied, forcing himself to smile to assure that she wouldn’t question him any longer.

“I will miss you,” Sansa spoke, tucking some hair behind her ear. “That’s why I invited you here. I don’t know if Cersei will try to murder you when you arrive. I wanted one last night with you. I wanted to…”

Tyrion watched as she trailed off and allowed himself to kiss her forehead gently.

“You didn’t have to contemplate that for me. Being with you just like we are is enough.” Tyrion sternly spoke, making sure to get that through to her. He watched as Sansa fixed herself to lay down, and he continued to sit. Being with Sansa like this, together in an actual bed, felt nice, but it didn’t ease the many questions he had swarming around. “Are you sleeping soon?”

“In just a bit.”

“Well, when you do, can you please blow out the candles?” Sansa tiredly asked, bringing her covers over her body. As she began to close her eyes, Tyrion stared at her. She was right. Cersei could kill him the moment she lays eyes on him, and while these thoughts were ones that were of extreme importance, he saw what his last and final opportunity could be to express love to the woman laying right beside him. Leaving the bed, Tyrion blew out each of the candles and stood in the middle of her chambers, watching her sleep in the bed they would now share.

My have they come a long way.

 

 

A friendly and welcoming hand rested on Daenerys’ abdomen that night as the two women allowed themselves to have some sort of relaxation before their journey in the morning. Daenerys looked down at her abdomen, a bit disappointed that it were still so flat, and sighed a bit to herself. She wondered how Jon would be as a father, raising a Targaryen baby together. A future heir to the iron throne once she took it.

“So, you still think I could very well be…” Daenerys asked, willingly seeking assurance from her confidant.

“I’d say yes, Your Grace.” Missandei smiled wide, continuing to brush her hair.

“Imagine that, a young prince or princess to uphold the throne. Jon will be thrilled.” Daenerys spoke, though upon realizing how distant the two were growing, she let her excitement subside.

“Have you spoken to him about betrothing Lady Sansa and Ser Jaime?”

“I spoke of it with Tyrion. He disagrees with this, of course.” Daenerys scoffed. Missandei remembered the night in the crypts, and how the two were quite flirtatious despite the many witnesses around. Could it be they assumed they would die and didn’t care who saw them in that way?

“…I see.” Missandei spoke. Daenerys didn’t like the sound of the response and turned around to look at her friend.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, Your Grace,” Missandei initially assured, though felt compelled after seeing Daenerys’ face grow serious. “In the crypts…I had heard the two talking.”

“Who?”

“Sansa and Tyrion.”

Daenerys twitched at the sound of the two names being placed together, though she tried to maintain her composure.

“Go on.”

“Jokes were said. They spoke about how they probably should have remained married. Sansa said it wouldn’t work between them…because of his loyalty to the _dragon queen_.”

Rage filled Daenerys at the thought of conversations like that. She had just had a conversation with Sansa about no more secrets, and she spoke with Tyrion about keeping a distance with Sansa. Then today, he volunteers himself to marry Sansa instead of his brother. At this point, Daenerys questioned where their loyalties lied. She knew to be weary of Sansa, but now Tyrion? Her _hand_?

“I apologize, Your Grace.” Missandei spoke, ceasing to brush her hair.

“Do not apologize,” Daenerys spoke. She rubbed her stomach softly and looked up at her friend with a look of shock. “Thank you for your loyalty.”


End file.
